Well and Dying
by guinevere'sghost
Summary: Ruth Doro has been sick for years. She can't remember a time when she wasn't. Now well enough to attend Hogwarts, she makes fast friends with the Weasley twins, who teach her to laugh again, but also draws the attention of her Potions partner, Draco Malfoy. As she falls deeper and deeper into new relationships, she keeps one wall up, guarding her secret: the curse making her sick.
1. Chapter 1

I thought my heart might beat right out of my chest as, for the millionth time since I'd gotten on the train and left my parents behind, I straightened my clothes and raked my fingers through my dark curls. Through the large oaken doors in front of me, I could hear thousands of voices, full of excitement and roaring with laughter. I was so excited, but more nervous, so uncertain of what might happen next. What would people think? Professor McGonagall was saying something very important, I was sure, but I couldn't pay attention.

I clenched my fists and set my jaw, summoning the strength to move as we proceeded forward into the Great Hall. Inside, the four houses sat at their respective tables, the prattle and noise continuing as the first years paraded into the hall. As soon as I'd passed through the arched doorway however, I could hear the murmurs and surprised whispers. I'd expected them, of course; it wasn't hard to deduce that I wasn't actually a first year. I'd ask it too if I were them. I was asking myself now, actually.

 _What am I doing here?_ A fourth year suddenly showing up, needing to be sorted with the first years? Despicable. They'd wonder what was wrong with me that I'd spent the last three years studying by myself through owl correspondence. No one would believe me being a special case.

At fourteen, I towered over the kids around me to the point where I could see quite well around the entire hall. Every head was turned, staring at me. I tried not to shrink under the gaze of thousands of students, but found it incredibly difficult. I wished that the floor would open up and swallow me. Everyone was still talking, becoming less and less discreet about sharing with their friends how out of place I was.

I could imagine the rumors already. I'd be thought stupid. Or that perhaps I hadn't contracted my magic fully until I was older. Maybe I hadn't been good enough to be accepted before now. So many things were bound to be spread.

After what felt like an eternity, Professor McGonagall proceeded with the sorting. Even after she had cleared her throat and announced herself, it took the hall several moments to quiet down. Even in their silence, I felt them staring. I prefered the whispers.

Alphabetically, we were called to take a seat on the most rickety old stool I had ever seen and be sorted into our respective houses. Only five first years had been sorted before I heard my name.

"Doro, Ruth."

The hall erupted again as I stepped forward and up to the stool. As I sat, there seemed to be no indication that they would quiet down. McGonagall tried to reign the students back in, several times with no luck, before casting a worried look behind her. Afraid to turn around, I watched her firm face as she nodded to whomever she was sharing this nonverbal exchange with.

"Silence, please!" I turned to see Professor Dumbledore standing at a large, golden podium, addressing the hall of young wizards and witches. As silence fell, slowly, I turned my head forward again and stared at the floor, hating that I was stuck in front of all of them. "Now," Dumbledore continued, his rich, baritone voice echoing across the vast room, "it seems that, until I explain some things, we will not be able to move on with our evening." I focused on the stone flooring under my feet and keeping my breathing even as he proceeded. "After having studied via correspondence with our professors for the last three years, Miss Doro has transferred to Hogwarts and must, accordingly, be sorted. You will find this, I am sure, a sufficient explanation and will refrain from pestering her or further postponing this evening's proceedings."

Things stayed silent, but I had becoming even more willing to be swallowed by the floor. I would have gladly invited a troll or a herd of rogue centaur to break down the door and ransack the hall. Anything to take the focus off of me. It was bad enough that everyone had been focusing on me in the first place, but for the headmaster to have had to single me out and explain my situation just to get my peers to settle down was possibly the most embarrassing thing to have ever happened to me. I kept my eyes down as McGonagall place the Sorting Hat on my head. My cheeks were flaming by this point, the skin becoming a pinky red under my freckles.

Still, I sat straight, listening to the hat mumble to itself. I'd heard rumors that the hat would talk. That it often conversed with the students it was sorting. This didn't happen. Instead, after taking its sweet time ignoring me, it shouted to the hall, "GRYFFINDOR!"

There was no applause, as had been the case with the previous sortings. There were one or two uncertain claps from the Gryffindor table, a cough from across the room, and a few more whisperings, but otherwise, nothing. I stood as quickly as possible, then, without making eye contact with anyone, scurried fast to the end of the Gryffindor table, where I sat alone. Once Professor McGonagall continued, I put my head down on the table and tried to ignore everything around me.

Gerald Efferman had been sorted into Slytherin and Alice Englebrect into Hufflepuff before I felt someone sit on either side of me. Barely lifting my head, I noticed bright orange hair to my left. Turning ever so slightly to look to my right, I jumped, seeing the same hair framing a face with bright blue eyes and a wicked smile, sitting on the table, staring at me.

"Oi, look what you did, Fred, you scared the poor girl!" The one on the left chastised his brother. As I sat up straighter, I could see that they were not just brothers but twins, both with the same mischievous grin that made me think that no one should ever trust them with fire.

"Ah, George, you know I didn't mean to," his twin replied. "I really didn't," he said, looking back to me.

"Can I help you?" I asked, annoyed and slightly embarrassed. I knew that my cheeks were still pink.

"She's American!" the one on my right, Fred marveled.

"Bloody hell!" George countered.

"We've never met an American, you see," Fred explained.

They both looked at me, expectantly. "Uh, okay?" I had no idea what to do.

"Listen to her accent, Gred!"

"You're right Forge, it's so exotic!"

Not really being able to tell whether or not they were teasing me good-naturedly, I was becoming rather uncomfortable. First years were still being sorted, I noticed, as the Sorting Hat called out "SLYTHERIN!" again.

"Look guys," I said, "if there's nothing you want, would you mind just leaving me to be miserable?" I put my head back down on the table, hoping they'd take the hint.

"Oh no," one said.

"We can't allow that," the other contributed.

"Miserable people are just so depressing, you see-"

"-And we shouldn't like to become depressed because of your misery."

I let out a long sigh.

"So we'll start over."

"Cheer you up."

"So that no one has to be depressed." I sat up again, to tell them to please, go away, but before I could say a word, Fred had picked up my hand and was shaking it enthusiastically.

"Fred Weasley," he introduced himself. "And this dashing fellow next to you is my brother George."

"Why thank you Fred," George replied. "You're quite the looker yourself."

"So, you are?" Fred asked me.

"Ruth. Doro."

"And from whence do you hail, Ruth Doro?" George asked with an unnecessary flourish.

"Connecticut." I felt so awkward, and still embarrassed. I could notice people from around the hall still turning to look at me.

"Sounds odd."

"And interesting."

"It's not," I told them. "Really. It's incredibly small and very boring. And there are way too many raccoons."

"Ah," George sighed. "We've never had to deal with raccoons."

"No," Fred agreed, "We instead have far too many garden gnomes."

"The little buggers just love to infest mum's flower beds."

"And bite."

"So we play a little game." I wouldn't have believed it possible, but their grins became even more devilish. "In which we collect the gnomes and kick them out of the garden."

"And whoever kicks the farthest wins." I raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"The last time we played," Fred said seriously, "one of them gnawed on our brother's ankle."

"Poor ickle Ronny-kins" George sung. "It started to get kind of infected, so we told him we had something that'd fix it right up."

"Instead," continued Fred, "we gave him some of this trick candy we've been developing. Called Puking Pastilles."

"It was beautifully disgusting, the way his vomit was projected across the kitchen, don't you think, Fred?" George asked with in a reminiscent tone.

"Yes," he agreed. "Most lovely. I do think he received full marks for form, but his expression and enthusiasm was simply lacking."

"That's awful!" I said, but I couldn't help it as my mouth turned up in a smile, laughing at the pain of this brother who I hadn't met.

George guffawed proudly. "She smiled!"

"I knew we'd break you eventually!" Fred exclaimed.

"Shut up," I told them. "I'm still miserable." I tried to keep a straight face, but their smiles had become infectious.

They sat with me for the rest of supper, which appeared on the table in front of us after Dumbledore had said a few words. They wanted to know so much about America. How was the muggle president different from the muggle queen? What was the local quidditch scene like? How did a galleon compare to an American dollar? I told them what I could and they regaled me with jokes. I spent the whole meal laughing and smiling. It was amazing really. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed or been truly happy. It must've been years, I'd been so sick. I wondered if they'd be as friendly if they knew my secret. I tried to ignore my doubts and my anxieties and just enjoy the night. There was no reason for them to know about the curse. It'd been cured anyway, right?

After we'd all eaten our fill, Professor Dumbledore resumed his post at the lectern. He began a speech about new rules to be obeyed by all students at the request of Mr. Filch, and proceeded to announce that the Quidditch cup would not be taking place this year, to which Fred and George both gasped and stared, open mouthed, at the headmaster. Just as he was explaining why this lack of sport was taking place, the doors to the Great Hall opened thunderously and revealed a strange man with a terrifyingly intimidating disposition. As this man, who, upon closer inspection, had one normal eye and had replaced the other with a rather robotic looking blue eye, hobbled forward through the hall, another silence fell, this one full of tension. While I too was a little scared, I was glad with the sudden realization that this was much more distracting than my existence and thus, I was no longer the center of attention.

The headmaster introduced this stranger as Professor Moody, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I wondered, as I'm sure everyone else was, if Professor Moody would last in the position, unlike nearly every professor to have held the post. It was difficult, learning by owl, when my teachers continued to change. My favorite Defense teacher thus far though had been last year's Professor Lupin. He was very good, but had retired.

Dumbledore, having retrieved focus again after the interruption, continued in his speech and announced that Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year.

"You're JOKING!" Fred said loudly from my side and nearly the entire hall laughed at him, including myself. Professor Dumbledore went on to explain the tournament, the schools involved, its dangers, and the eternal glory that awaited the witch or wizard who won.

Hearing about the glory and gold involved, Fred announced to us that he was competing, and George agreed. I rolled my eyes at their hopeful and determined faces. This excitement quickly dissipated though, as Dumbledore announced an age restriction forbidding anyone under the age of seventeen from competing in the tournament. So, it was a moody and plotting pair of twins that I followed from the Great Hall that night to the Gryffindor dorms.

They very briefly, however, set aside their anger when they saw my reaction to the common room. _Holy Merlin I had never seen anything so amazing_. I mean, the entire castle was just beautiful and the most incredible place I had ever been, but the common room was so homey and warm and inviting. I loved every inch of it. The boys laughed at me as we settled into a group of plush armchairs by the roaring fireplace.

"You like it then?" George asked me as I looked up at the soaring ceiling.

"It's wonderful," I breathed. "Oh, mom and dad would love to see this. Their school was nowhere near this awesome."

"Your mum and dad are wizards then?" Fred asked. I nodded.

"Both pureblood, not that it necessarily matters," I told him. "Mom's family is really prominent in Ireland and my Dad's was one of the first to settle on the West Coast. We ended up on the East Coast by some sort of compromise where they were in between the two. Or that's what they tell me. They both went to a wizarding academy in the U.S., but it's not nearly as rich in history and culture. Much newer. More American."

"So why are you here instead of there then?" He persisted. My stomach tightened. I tried to tell myself to calm down. He hadn't asked anything bad, hadn't done anything that I should worry about. All I had to do was say that I'd been accepted to both schools and had chosen Hogwarts, which, though true, was not the full story. Yet my tongue seemed to have suddenly dried in my mouth. No words would come.

Luckily, right at that moment, another red headed boy who looked to be about my age appeared behind Fred's chair. "Oi, Fred, George, you didn't sneak in any firewhiskey did you? The guys wanted to celebrate being back."

"My dear brother," George began, "as you can see, we're in the middle of a conversation."

"Besides, Ronny-kins," Fred added, "we'd never give you our firewhiskey. We brought it for us. Not for you and your fourth year friends." He glanced past who I understood to be Ron, the gnome-bitten-vomiter, to another boy with dark, messy hair and glasses. "No offense, Harry, of course."

"None taken," the dark haired boy replied. He nodded at me and I grinned back.

"Ron, Harry," George said, "This is Ruth. She's from New Jersey and can appreciate a good joke. Ruth, our brother Ronald and his friend Harry."

"Nice to meet you," Harry smiled.

"You too," I replied.

"You're a fourth year, right?" he asked me. Ron was busy trying to negotiate firewhiskey from his brothers.

"Yeah, it'll be interesting to actually be here in the classroom with everyone." Harry nodded again, as if unsure what to say. All of a sudden, a girl, our age with bushy brown hair, came flying towards Harry. She started complaining to him about House Elf rights or something weird like that, not noticing me. When she paused, after what sounded to be two paragraphs, Harry interjected.

"Hermione," he calmly interrupted, "this is Ruth." He gestured to me. I smiled at this girl who seemed to me a bit crazy.

"Harry Potter!" she huffed, "Don't interrupt me! This is important!" She turned to me quickly. "It's nice to meet you, Ruth." I was sitting there, wide-eyed, staring at Harry. Harry Potter. Whoa. I wasn't obsessed with the kid, obviously, but he was insanely famous, even in the U.S.

I sat quietly, still in wonder of the beautiful common room, while the others held their respective arguments. I was thinking about how much fun it might be to play hide-n-seek in the castle when I realized that Fred was talking to me.

"We really should turn in," he said. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were already wandering off. "Big day tomorrow, especially for you."

"Right," I said, standing, my back cracking as I stretched my arms above my head.

"See you in the morning," George said, turning around to leave.

"Goodnight!" I replied. I looked at Fred. "And thank you guys," I said sincerely. "For making me smile."

"It was a pleasure," he drawled, winking. "Goodnight, Ruth."

I smiled to myself as I climbed the stairs to my dorm, where Hermione asked me why I was blushing.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Although I hadn't previously stated so, all characters (with the exception of Ruth and her family), basic plot lines, and the entire universe of Harry and Hogwarts obviously belong to J.K. Rowling.**

I tried to keep my composure when I went down to breakfast the next morning. I'd taken extra time on my hair, making sure that it wasn't a frizzy mess, while Hermione complained that we would be late. I was glad for her taking me under her wing, but I could already tell that the girl had control issues. With one last look in the gilded mirror which we shared with the other fourth year girls, I had to dash out of the dorm and down the stairs to keep up with her.

I spent the walk down to the hall straightening my robes, making sure everything was just so. I knew it was weird, but I wanted to look good this morning. I wanted to be able to walk around the halls with confidence, even though I knew everyone would be judging me all day. I figured if I looked nice they'd have one less thing to dissect about me. Yes, I'd be the weird girl who transferred from America who couldn't come to school for the first three years, but at least I'd be the good looking weird girl who transferred from America.

As insane as it was, I also wanted to look cute when I saw the twins again. They'd both been completely crazy, but also oddly endearing and wonderfully funny. I knew it was stupid and that I was reading too much into Fred's comment from the night before about seeing me smile being a pleasure and everything. I knew it had simply been a friendly comment and that I shouldn't do this to myself, but I couldn't help it. His wink had made me blush last night and it did now, as I thought about it again. He was sweet. Very sweet.

There were a few things though that made me realize how deranged I was being:

I'd just met him.

He was a sixth year, and way out of my league.

He wanted to be friends, nothing more.

There was nothing to make me assume anything more.

If he knew my secret, I'm not sure he'd even stay friends with me, much less anything else.

No. Fred and I were never happening and I was being dumb and getting too caught up in the fact that I'd had my first interaction with boys my age since I was seven. I'd only just met him. There was no way I had developed feelings for him already. I didn't even know what 'feelings' were or what they were like. I wondered though if I'd know when I started to have them for someone.

My thoughts were interrupted and I was launched back into reality when I ran into something. I thought for a second that it was Hermione-it was definitely a person and not a wall-but realized that I'd lost track of her on the way down. Instead, I found myself looking into the cold eyes of a wiry pale boy in the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Excuse me," I said. "I didn't see you there."

"Obviously," he replied, his voice effectively conveying his opinion of his importance. "Why don't you try using your eyes?" He began to turn towards the hall and muttered under his breath, "Bloody half-blood." As he started into the hall, I fell into step next to him.

"I'm not a half-blood," I told him, not because I was offended by his comment, but more because it hadn't been factual.

"You're a mudblood then!" he sounded even more disgusted. "Even worse! Get out of my way, you filthy little freak." He lifted his long chin into the air and tried to push past me.

Angry less so with his assumption that I was one and more so with his use of the term, I stepped directly into his path. "I'm a pureblood," I growled, "not that it matters." The thought that this boy would use such language and degrade other people because of their blood status made me furious. My brown eyes glared into his gray, which were glaring right back. "And you could stand to learn some manners."

We kept staring each other down, neither wishing to be the one to break. "What's your name then, pureblood?" he asked me, his voice dripping with malice but hinting at his curiosity. He broke eye contact for just a moment to look me up and down, as if sizing me up for a fight.

"Ruth Doro," I told him, refusing to back down. "Who are you?" I challenged.

"Draco Malfoy," he sneered, as if this was supposed to mean something to me. For a moment, we stood there, facing off, only a few inches apart. I'm not sure when I'd gotten so up in his face, but I could feel his breath on mine.

"Well, Draco Malfoy," I clipped, "I hope that if I am ever unlucky enough to find myself in your presence again, you'll have improved your attitude." I turned sharply on my heel and headed toward the Gryffindor table, leaving him standing there. I could still feel his glare on my back as I tossed my hair over my shoulder and sashayed away, my head held high.

Potions class was nothing like I'd expected it to be. I'd known that class was held in the dungeons, but I still had never expected the place to be so cold and foreboding. There was no light aside from the obviously enchanted sconces on the walls, so everything within the room was clearly illuminated, but the light felt stuffy and stale, like the lighting in muggle doctor's examination rooms, but much dimmer. The entire dungeon smelled of mildew. A sort of sweet, damp smell. Taking a deep breath, I settled into the seat beside Hermione and tried to ignore the unnerving knot in the pit of my stomach as we waited for Professor Snape to arrive.

At breakfast that morning, I'd eaten very little. While I watched Ron wolf down toast and jellies and eggs, I nibbled carefully on a few ginger snaps. I was too nervous to manage anything more and, although they were pureblood wizards, because my parents believe wholeheartedly in natural muggle remedies, I knew that the ginger would help to settle my stomach. Harry had been complaining about Professor Snape since the moment Professor McGonagall had distributed their schedules.

"I'm warning you, Ruth," Harry had said as he spooned oatmeal into his mouth, "Snape is awful. He prides himself on taking points from Gryffindor. Purposely sets students up to fail."

I was taken aback. "Really?" I asked sincerely. "Professor Snape was always perfectly cordial in his letters. He even congratulated me on my potion making and creativity from time to time. I always received good scores from him."

"You'd be the first then," Ron said bitterly. "You just wait though. You weren't properly sorted before. Now that you're Gryffindor, he'll hate you, same as the rest of us."

Now I sat on a bench beside Hermione, hoping that Ron was wrong. I'd always liked Professor Snape. Of course he sometimes was very harsh and had extremely critical criticisms, but it had always been for mistakes which I easily could have avoided. For the most part, Snape had been a civil and skilled teacher to me. I sincerely hoped that wouldn't change. I really didn't want some new found hatred from my teacher to be the reason Potions wasn't my favorite subject anymore.

The atmosphere of the dungeon however, was making me more worried by the minute, not simply by Professor Snape. I was absolutely petrified because it was my first day as a part of a class. How would everything go? What would happen?

My anxious thoughts were interrupted by the slamming of the dungeon door as Professor Snape entered the room and briskly stepped to the front of the room to face his students. He wasted no time with formalities or pleasantries. Much in the same way that his letters had always begun objectively with _Miss Doro,_ the professor jumped straight to the subject at hand.

"You shall each be assigned a partner and a potion," he began, his voice cold, monotone, and drawn out. "During the next month, you and your partner will prepare said potion and then with each turn in a forty inch scroll on the process of making the potion, the properties it possesses, and its uses." He paused for a moment before continuing. His eyes shot daggers at Ron, who, in the back of the room, was groaning about the work load.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape spit, causing Ron to snap his head to attention, "you will be working with Mr. Thomas." He went on. "Potter, Longbottom. Granger, Finnigan." He said Harry's name with more venom than the rest, and after being given her partner assignment, Hermione shook her head and hung it dejectedly in her hands. Professor Snape continued to give assignments. "Parkinson, Goyle. Greengrass, Crabe." How I hadn't realized before this point that the Slytherins were in class with us, I don't know. So far, there hadn't been any mixing of houses by Snape's pairings. I waited patiently and finally heard my name in the last pair. "Doro, Malfoy."

The class looked anxiously between myself and Draco, whom I recognized at the back of the room. I was unsurprised by the mix of house. While Snape was giving assignments I was counting out pairs. With an odd number in each house, inevitably a Slytherin would have to be partnered with a Gryffindor. I just wished it hadn't been me. Snape gave the order to sit with our partner as he distributed potion assignments. I sighed to myself, picked up my books, and moved toward Draco at the back of the room.

"Of course I'm stuck with the Gryffindor," he heaved as I sat beside him. "I guess we have to work together, Doro."

"And I guess you still need to work on your manners, Malfoy," I shot back. This shut him up enough that we were each able to take out a quill and parchment as we waited for our assignment.

A fire was crackling as I eased myself into one of the plush chairs beside it. The day had been unbearably long and I almost couldn't believe that I'd have to do it again tomorrow. Before, I'd never had such long, tiring days. _Before, I never would have survived one_. The thought made me cold. I could feel blood draining from my face. My mouth went dry. My heartbeat seemed to stop, then quicken in pace. I sat there, petrified, not wanting to remember the last seven years.

I'd managed to swallow and blink by the time I saw two red heads come bobbing into view. They took seats on either side of me, and just sat, watching me for a moment. Fred waved a hand in front of my face when I didn't react to them. "Ruth?" he called softly, in a sing-songy voice. "Hello?" I began to move, looked at them both, and smiled.

"Hey guys," I said. I must have still been ghostly pale; my mouth still felt like it was filled with sand. My tongue was so heavy to move that for a moment I thought it was.

"Oi," Fred said, "what's up with you then?"

"Oh, nothing," I told him. I hoped that he wouldn't pester me about it. I didn't have a good time keeping secrets and I didn't want anything to know mine yet. I wasn't sure I ever wanted anyone to know it.

Luckily, George supplied and answer. "Well didn't you hear?" he asked his twin. "They poor girl got paired with Malfoy for her Potions assignment."

Fred made a face. "What a way to start the year. No wonder you're so pale." I didn't bother to answer. Let them believe that Malfoy was the reason for my odd mood.

"So," George asked, "is he as much of a prat to you as everyone else? I mean, you're pureblood, but you're also a Gryffindor." Fred nodded agreement.

"I don't know," I told them. "I mean, I've barely had two conversations with the guy. I mean, I guess he's a snot, but I don't know him very well yet."

"Trust us," George said, "He only gets worse."

"And," Fred added, "if he gives you too much trouble, George and I have got a wide choice of ways to remedy the situation. Isn't that right, George?"

"You've got it, Fred."

"Choices?" I was wary of their idea of 'remedying the situation.'

"Let's just say that he could end up with bogey flavored food for a week," George said.

"Or pink hair," his brother added.

"Or boils all over his-"

"Really guys," I interjected, "I think it'll be fine. It's a Potions project. We'll just make the potion."

The twins accepted this. They'd mostly been joking around anyway, or so I hoped. We talked for a while longer. The boys wanted to know about the rest of my day, interrupting me to complain about some of my professors, and asked if I was going to try out for quidditch next year.

"We're beaters, see," George told her.

"You look like a natural broomstick handler," Fred added.

I shook my head as I felt a pink flush crawl up my neck. "I've never actually been on a broom before," I confessed, a bit embarrassed to admit such a thing in front of these two, who obviously adored flying. They were flabbergasted. Their mouths hung open as they stared, wide-eyed and disbelieving at me.

"Never been on a-well, we're just going to have to fix that, aren't we, George?"

"I'd say you're right, Fred." There were mischievous smiles growing on their faces.

"Well then," Fred said definitively, "Saturday morning eat a light breakfast. We're teaching you to fly."

Not long after this, the boys wished me goodnight and excused themselves to their dormitory. George ruffled my dark curls as he stood, Fred paused to squeeze my shoulder.

"See you tomorrow, Ruth," they called over their shoulders.

With the twins gone, I yawned and stood slowly to head off to bed. I'd almost forgotten how exhausted I was, I'd been having such a nice time with Fred and George. I allowed myself a lazy smile as I trudged across the common room. Although they were not in my year, I had decided that these two boys would be my closest friends at Hogwarts. They were so far, anyway. It was good to know that I'd found friends so easily. I'd been so worried that I'd be a freak around school. Some people did throw odd looks my way and weren't so secretive about talking about me and staring, but the Weasley boys hardly seemed to care where I'd come from, deciding instead to laugh with me and encourage me to enjoy myself.

As I started to climb the stairs to my dorm, my thoughts drifted from the twins to the boy they'd warned me about. Potions class replayed in my mind.

 _"A beautification potion," I said, opening my text book. "Shouldn't be too hard. And the effects are fairly self-explanatory."  
"Thank Merlin," Draco breathed. "Less work to do."_

 _I sighed, for at least the fourth time this period, and watched as he thumbed through his text. "Please tell me that you aren't going to just blow this off and let me do all the work." I was getting that kind of vibe off of him. Like he could care less about actually learning about the potion and just wanted the grade._

 _"Like I'd ever trust my grade to you," Draco retorted. I'd been half right._

 _"I'm actually quite good at Potions," I informed him. I'm not sure why I felt the need to validate myself for him all the time._

 _He heaved a sigh and looked at me. "Look," he said coolly, "nothing personal, but I'd much rather not be working with you on this. So can we just do the assignment please?" I took it rather personally, but just nodded anyway._

 _"Fine." We set about reading up on the potion, each taking notes in silence. After all, the only thing we actually had to do together was make the blasted thing._

Now, as I slowly stripped off my shoes and socks, I thought about other, smaller things. Like the way his pale, cool eyes gave him a piercing gaze and would squint to look at me when he was challenging me. I peeled off my sweater. His white hair, swept back, that was shiny and matched his eyes perfectly. My skirt fell to the floor as I unbuttoned my shirt. His cheekbones were high, and I was certain that if he smiled, his cheeks would dimple. I tugged my nightgown over my head. The green in his house robes that made his gray eyes pop. I pulled my hair into a bun on top of my head. Really, his eyes were extremely distracting. I'd never seen any like them. I crawled into bed, placing my wand on my nightstand, and shook my head. These were just observations after all. There was absolutely no reason for them to be distracting me.

And yet, I fell asleep wishing for dreams of flying and potion-making.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a review or send me a message; I'd love to hear what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: As it shall always be, Harry and Hogwarts belong to JK Rowling**

My dreams were _not_ about flying or potion-making. Instead, I found myself in darkness.

I knew where I was—the park in my old neighborhood, from before my parents moved us to the east coast. It was a little park, in a little town in the Midwest. When we'd lived there, I'd only been four or five, too young to remember much of what my life was like. In my dream though, I was my proper age of fourteen. That made my helplessness all the worse.

I was hiding behind a tree, waiting for something or someone. I didn't know who or why. I did know though that I'd been there before and that that I _had_ to get out of there. I couldn't move. I was stuck, trapped there, terrified. A twig snapped behind me and I tried to turn, but couldn't even move my head and neck to see. Something was coming for me. I was certain.

"Who's there?" I asked the darkness. My voice, what sounded in my head like a strong, confident call, came from my mouth as a fearful whisper. The darkness gave no answer. Still, I tried freeing myself from whatever it was that was keeping me in place. All of my efforts failed. Through it all, I could hear the rustling of leaves and cracking of twigs; signs that whatever it was getting closer and closer.

Then everything was silent again.

"Who's there?" I tried again. Still nothing.

That's when I heard a growl. An incantation. My own frightened scream, this time loud, piercing, a jagged sound ripped from the lungs of a four year old me. I saw a flash of bright, white light.

Then I opened my eyes to more darkness, this one softer and much less intimidating. I was sweating like crazy—a cold sweat. My entire body was shaking and there were tears streaming down my face. The breaths I was taking in were shallow and panicked, and the blankets of my four-poster were tangled around my legs. Immediately, I sat up, glancing around me frantically. I was in my dorm. Hermione, Pavarti, and Lavender were all breathing calmly and making sleeping sounds. I was safe.

If I knew I was safe though, why was I so terrified? I tried to normalize my breathing, but it was no use. The sobs that were racking through me were causing my breaths to become more ragged than they had been. I was lucky though; the sobs were silent. I pulled my hair back and held myself, praying that I wouldn't wake the other girls. How could I have though I could do this? I'd never be able to deal with it. I couldn't bear them anymore—the nightmares. The memories. Of the entire reason I'd waited so long to come to Hogwarts. Of my curse.

. . . . . . . . .

The next morning didn't bring any signs that the other girls had heard my terror. We all prepared for our day, exchanging minor pleasantries, but speaking very little. Just from the last two days, I'd learned that Pavarti and Lavender were both useless until they got some breakfast, and Hermione just kept to herself anyway. When they asked if I was ready to go, I declined.

"You go on without me," I said. "I'll be there soon." Hermione had simply shrugged and followed the other two down the dormitory stairs. Alone, I took a number of deep breaths and looked at myself hard in the mirror. I had to compose myself. I'd already used makeup to cover the dark circles under my eyes as best I could, but my hands were still shaky and my feet still bounced with anxiety. It was simply luck that the girls hadn't noticed the nervous way I had danced around the room all morning. I couldn't risk anyone actually realizing what was going on. No one could now about the nightmares or the curse. Not yet. They'd think I was some sort of freak. Maybe they'd think I was contagious or something. Everyone would ignore me. I'd be alone. Again. I couldn't bear the thought.

So I straightened myself out, stood to my full five feet, five inches, and with one final, determined breath, descended down the stairs and out the portrait hole.

My courage, however, only lasted as far as the Great Hall. As soon as I made it past the doors, I was set upon by Draco Malfoy. Instantly, I deflated. I knew that Draco did not like me, and he was the person with whom I was gifted a conversation this morning. It seemed the universe had it out for me.

"Can I help you, Draco?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level as I squared off against his intimidating glare.

"Sunday. The library. We may as well start to get this project out of the way." He didn't seem angry, and his voice carried no malice, only boredom. It was not how I'd experienced him yesterday.

"Fine," I said, starting to move past him, "1 o'clock." I moved on, as did he. There was no need for further interaction, and I couldn't have been more thankful.

. . . . . . . . .

Sunday arrived much too soon for me. The nightmares weren't going away, but I couldn't tell anyone about them. I woke up every night that first week, screaming, cheeks tear-stained, but the other girls still had no idea what was going on. Merlin. They were heavy sleepers.

I was able to take my mind off of it all for a few hours on Saturday while Fred and George taught me to fly. I wasn't as good as them, obviously, but after a day's worth of practice, the duo deemed me better than most of the non-quidditch players. "A natural," George crowned me. He was lying, of course, but it still made me happy to know that I had friends that would build me up the way he and Fred did.

They'd started by letting me feel what flying was like. As instructed, I climbed behind Fred onto his broom and wrapped my arms around his waist. I hoped desperately that the blush working itself up my neck wasn't as noticeable as I thought it was. When he first kicked up off the ground, I buried my face in the back of his shirt. He smelled like cinnamon and sweat and vaguely of sulfur. I was petrified, clinging to him for dear life, praying that he wasn't detecting me inhaling his scent like a total freak. I did wonder though if George smelled the same. It was a good smell. A _really_ good smell. I forgot for a moment where I was until Fred started talking to me.

"Ruth?" he groaned, "could you loosen your grip? You're worse than a body-bind hex." I did, and when he laughed at me, I reluctantly took my face out of his shirt and looked around. We were still just within the quidditch pitch—Fred told me later that they hadn't wanted to take me too far—and George was circling underneath us, apparently a spotter, in case I fell. The thought of me falling sent a chill up my spine and a held tighter to Fred again, though not so tightly that he'd be unable to breathe. I was beginning to appreciate the feeling of the wind around me though, and was thoroughly thankful that the boys had made her grab a sweater before coming out. It was exhilarating to be in the air, above the rest of the world, free of everything that could hold me down. For the rest of the day, the twins took turns flying beside me as I made circles around the pitch. When we came in that evening, we were all dirty and tired; I barely had the strength to smile at their stupid jokes.

Even after such an incredible day with the two people who seemed thus far to be my closest—and really, only—friends, and even with my exhaustion, my nightmares hadn't stayed away. I hadn't been able to get back to sleep afterwards either.

So that's how I found myself in the library on Sunday afternoon, completely and utterly deprived of energy, but still trying to summon some to work on my potions project and—more importantly—put up with my potions partner.

When Draco arrived promptly at 1, he pulled out a roll of parchment and his textbook, ready to begin. Too tired to contribute or object to any of the ideas he started to spew in his usual drawl, I simply scratched notes onto my parchment until he abruptly stopped.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked. I couldn't tell if his tone was demeaning or bitter or somehow concerned, but I didn't reply. I just stared blankly at him, waiting for him to continue his instruction, much too exhausted to argue with him today. "You didn't seem like the type to agree with me on everything. Why are you being so docile?" He was sneering, I think. My brain was so fuzzy my perception was entirely messed up.

"No reason." My mouth felt like it was full of cotton, my tongue heavy.

"Doro—"

"Ruth." I somehow found the strength to correct him.

"—you look like hell. What's wrong with you?" His voice was too loud, my head hurt immensely. I tried to shake my head, slowly, but it made the aching worse.

"Why do you even care? Look, I'll just sit here quietly and take notes. Keep going." I picked up my quill again and bent my head, ready to continue. He wouldn't let me.

"You're not going to let me do all the work on this," he insisted.

"And I won't. But today I'm going to let you do what you want." Merlin, he was getting on my nerves. I was being obedient. Was that not exactly what he wanted?

"Why though? Rumor is you're good with potions. Better than Granger even. Maybe as good as me." He smirked as he praised himself. "No, you couldn't be that good." I wished I had the energy to glare at him. "In any case, if you're that good, you wouldn't want to trust your work to someone else any more than I would. So what gives?"

His cold eyes were staring at me and I rather uncharacteristically avoided them. He noticed. He sighed, seeming to give up, and turned back to his book, silently scratching his quill against his parchment. I couldn't bear the thought of telling him what was really going on. It was a secret. A huge, dreadful secret. No one could ever know. I hoped he'd given up on trying to figure things out completely. He was silent for a few minutes, reading and writing slowly, glancing up at me when he thought I wouldn't notice. I was slowly falling asleep on my textbook.

"Are you really just tired?" he asked suddenly, loudly, annoyed. "That's all this is?" Sure, I thought. That's it. Not a combination of incredible stress and exhaustion. Just a little drowsy spell. I nodded. "What a baby," he mumbled, and turned away again.

An hour later, I'd made almost no progress. He seemed to have made scores of it. He stood, sending a scathing look down at me. "We'll meet Wednesday evening after classes. Bring your brain this time." I watched stupidly as he slid his books off of the table and whipped around, his robes flapping behind him as he sauntered out of the library. I waited a few minutes until I knew I wouldn't have to run into him in the corridors, then hauled myself out of my seat and trudged on heavy feet back to Gryffindor Tower. There was still time for a nap before supper.

 **A/N: This chapter was a bit short; sorry! There are big things planned for the future though, so bear with me. Let me know what you think and have a marvelously happy existence until next time! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know it's been a while, please forgive me. I'm going to try to have another chapter up by the end of the week! Here's a little back story (emphasis on the little. Again, sorry.)**

 **As always, the wizarding world and all of its characters, inventions, and magic belong to JK Rowling.**

It happened when I was four, not even old enough to go to school. My parents and I had gone to the park just outside of our neighborhood for a barbeque with our muggle neighbors. It had been a lovely evening, everyone was enjoying themselves. Our neighbors—the Jacobsons—didn't have kids, so I had entertained myself by pushing my dolls down the slide and dancing around in the grass.

Around dusk, I wandered off into the woods. The adults were distracted by something and didn't notice me stumbling my way between the trees, where it was already growing dark. I was fairly deep into the forest when I fell. I remember the scrape on my knee and the tears in the skin on my palms and the snapping twig behind me. I remember the grunt belonging to a person I would never see and never know and trying to pull myself off of the ground. There was a flash of light and then…nothing. I woke up two weeks later at St. Wenceslas's', the East-coast wizarding hospital.

My parents have filled in this part of my memory. I was in so much pain and so disoriented and, honestly, just so young that I can't remember much of what happened next. The healers had determined that nothing had happened to me physically. Aside from the scratches, which I'd later tell them had been my own doing, I hadn't been outwardly hurt. They ran every kind of test they could think of; a four-year-old who won't wake up and is exhibiting extreme fever is nothing to fool around with. In the end, the healers deemed my case impossible diagnosable and sent it to some of the best wizarding scholars at the Salem Witches Institute. It would be years until they figured out what was wrong with me, during which time things only became worse.

I didn't go to school. I stayed home and was taught by private tutors brought in by my parents. This worked well for the first few years. I took frequent naps and ran a fever almost constantly, but for the most part I was capable of having a semi-normal life.

Then, sometime in my ninth year, things took a turn for the worst. I was in our backyard, on the swing set, and I blacked out. My parents found me in a crumpled heap on the ground, my arm broken. Healers were baffled by their inability to heal it but set it and allowed it to heal the muggle way, which still took twice as long as it should have. I started having higher fevers, passing out at odd moments, throwing up almost everything I ate. I stopped eating then, because I didn't have an appetite anymore. I would sleep for sixteen hours and then still have to lay down and take naps during the eight I was awake. Any scratch, bruise, or scrape, which I was getting much easier and more frequently, took ages to heal. My mom would later describe me as being made of paper and glass.

Private healers were hired and more tests were conducted. Still, there were no results. We hadn't heard from the scholars in a year or so. I continued this existence of sleeping late, drinking blended nutrients rather than eating, and being too weak to even walk for three years.

The summer I turned eleven, I received two letters. One was from The Murdoch Academy for Young Wizards and Witches in Chicago and the other from Hogwarts. In my Hogwarts letter, there was a note from Professor Dumbledore, noting my Irish decent, family potential, and my illness. I hadn't ever thought I'd get to study my magic. It just didn't seem possible anymore. Professor Dumbledore however thought that I was just fine, perfect for studying, even if it meant by correspondence. It was one of the few times I can remember during that decade of sickness when I felt truly happy. Hogwarts wanted me. I'd been accepted into arguably the greatest wizarding school in the world. I'd have been a fool to turn it down. A meeting was held, a system established, and I was enrolled.

Studying helped. I still didn't stay awake for very long, but at least I had something to wake up for now. I worked as earnestly as I possibly could, my bony hands clutching my wand, my weak muscles working to cast a spell, make a potion, or write an essay. I did it, though. I became a rather decent student and nearly all of my professors were very encouraging.

Potions quickly became my favorite subject. I'd realized during my years of tests and observations that potions could heal people. I longed so greatly for a cure for my problems that I decided that I would have to discover one of my own. I worked harder with my ingredients and my cauldron than any other magical tools. Each year, my potions text was riddled with scribblings and notes and the pages were so well worn that they frayed at the edges. Professor Snape would give me high marks, though he was never very enthusiastic about my work. I was determined that I would someday find a way to fix myself. I never did.

When I was thirteen, things still as bad as they would ever be, we finally heard again from the Salem Witches Institute. They were certain they'd figured things out, finally. They knew what was wrong with me. Along with a group of healers, they called me in for an examination.

Once again sitting on a cold bed in a medical ward, I was poked and prodded by people I didn't know. I hated the process of examination more and more each time one was conducted. I'd become so frustrated by the lack of progress of my healers that I'd stopped interacting with them any more than necessary about a year before. Today I threw up on one of them as he was poking around my stomach for inflammation. I wasn't sorry.

One of the men, who I would come to know as Antoni Harrow, didn't touch me. He stood in the corner, watching and taking notes. Later, he came to talk to me and my parents.

"I was right," he told us later that day in the sitting room off the medical ward. I was sinking into the giant couch I was laying on. My parents sat on either side of me, Mom held my hand, Dad occasionally patted my foot. "Your curse, my dear," he said, directly to me, something I was not at all used to in these situations, "is very ancient. It took us years to find and translate the correct text to understand it. It's ridiculous that anyone in this day and time would know the incantation at all. We're working on translating the counter curse right now, but it could take a few months. We hope it will work."

"And if it doesn't?" my father asked, calm and cool as always.

Antoni blanched. Even I, barely conscious at this point, could tell that he didn't want to tell us. "I doubt that we need to worry about—"

"What if the counter curse doesn't work?" My mother persisted.

"I really don't think—"

"Mr. Harrow," my mother interrupted, "we have spent nine years dealing with the nightmare that is this curse. Our daughter was robbed of a normal childhood. We've spent years in the dark, not knowing what was going on, having no word from you and your _prodigious_ team. Now you tell us that you have it figured out and you owe it to us to tell us. _What is going to happen if the counter curse doesn't work_?"

She held his nervous gaze in her own, challenging him. After a moment, he sighed. "If it doesn't work, your daughter will die."

"When." It wasn't a question.

"We don't know. But we know that the counter curse should work. The chances of it failing are—" This is when I stopped listening. I turned my gaze to the ceiling. I tried, at the age of thirteen, to come to terms with the fact that my life was over. I was going to die. I fell asleep on that couch, not listening to my parents arguing with Antoni, contemplating death and how I would leave my parents.

…

It worked. I don't remember the counter curse being put into effect. I suppose that I was too weak to have normal brain function and memory at that point. It worked though, and I got stronger and stronger. My parents rejoiced, I adjusted to eating solid foods again. I started to do better in my school work, was able to stay awake for longer stretches of time, could feel myself growing stronger with every passing day.

That year, inside of my Hogwarts letter, behind my list of books and materials, there was a note from Professor Dumbledore.

 _Dear Miss Doro,_

 _It has been brought to our attention that, thanks to the tireless efforts of the Salem Institute, you've been growing in strength and health. It is my wish, and that of the rest of our staff, that you should attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in a physical sense this term. This invitation is, of course, subject only to the permission of your parents and your personal consent as well. We hope to see your face in our corridors and to finally meet you in person._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_

Plans were made, healers were consulted, Antoni's directions were given, trunks were packed, flights to Britain booked, and, come September first, I was on the Hogwarts Express, en route to the school of my dreams, healthy, and shaking out of my robes, not quite ready for what was in store.

 **A/N: Again, sorry for the shortness of this chapter, but I figured it was about time Ruth's story and curse were actually explained...let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This one is sort of obnoxiously fluffy...sorry. I just really wanted a low-maintenance chapter. I promise to work on developing plot further in the next one. This chapter too is fairly short, but it is the second in two days (if you haven't read the previous chapter yet, YOU NEED TO DO SO.)**

 **Harry, his friends, and his world belong to JK Rowling**

It was weeks later, my potions project had been turned in, and I was slowly becoming accustomed to Draco Malfoy. Professor Snape, after the initial project, had decided that our partners should remain as such indefinitely, meaning that I was stuck with the pompous ass with the pureblooded superiority complex, the unexplainably distracting silver blonde hair, and a sneer that I couldn't decipher.

We met every other week to study in the library; Draco had finally decided that I could at least keep up with him and was thus a worthy partner with whom to work on essays and research. His snide remarks about my sorting and my American roots didn't stop though. He complained constantly, both in the library and in class, about having to work with a Gryffindor, then would make some comment about how it was even worse to have to work with an American.

It became particularly annoying one afternoon in mid-October.

"I still don't believe you," he was saying as we sat in the library, picking through texts about the oldest potion makers and their family lineage. "About being a pureblood. I would have heard of your family. There's no way you could have ended up at Hogwarts without some sort of British lineage; they don't just let Americans come here you know. They have other, less prestigious places for _that sort_ to go."

"The wizarding academy in America is perfectly adequate, Draco," I said, not bothering to lift my head and meet his face, which I'm sure was twisted in a sneer.

"Still though. You couldn't possibly be pureblood. I've never heard of a Doro family in Britain. That side of your family must be half-blood or worse." He waited for a response, and when he didn't get one, he persisted. "Your father was a mudblood, wasn't he? That's why I've never heard of you!"

It was the slur that finally made me snap. I'd had enough of his bigotry and ignorance and had put up with his foul language for long enough. "I asked you to stop using that word in front of me!" I snapped, still trying to keep my voice down.

"And now I know why you hate it so much! It's because your father was one! You're a dirty little half-blood from a mudblood father and a blood traitor whore of a mother!"

My quill dug into the parchment in front of me, tearing a hole. "Don't you _dare_ talk about my mother that way! None of that is even remotely true!"

"It _has_ to be!" he hissed. "Why else haven't I heard of your family? I know _every_ pureblood family in Britain!"

"Maybe," I jeered back, "It's because my father's family is _American._ The Doros are one of the oldest wizarding families in America! They settled on the west coast before the Revolutionary War had even begun! They lived there before colonists settled, before anything happened to disturb the natural land. We are descendants from the Chinook tribe and proud to be!"

"Well what about your mother then? If she's the one from here, she must be the mudblood!" He looked down his nose at me, like he'd finally found a way to win.

I stared straight into his cold eyes and said proudly and quietly, "My mother is Ashling Roherty."

He was visibly taken aback. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again without making any sound. He did it again, and then once more, before blurting, stupidly, "That can't be possible!"

"She's my mom. Why would I lie about something like that?" I watched as, once again, he did a lovely impression of a fish.

"But that would mean that your grandparents—"

"Grandma Keelin and Grandpa Feidhelm—"

"And your aunts and uncles—"

" _Uncle_ , actually. Declan. And two aunts, Meara and Einin. None of them have kids."

"But I've met your mother!"

Now I paused. "You've what?"

"Every April, my mother and father host a party to honor their anniversary. Every year, the Roherty family comes. In particular, mother is always looking forward to seeing Ashling, because she—" he paused, and his eyes widened as he stared at me with a new curiosity "—she had moved to America to marry a wizard she'd met on holiday." His voice trailed off in a dreamy air. "She always came alone because her daughter had a weak stomach for travel—"

" _Wait!_ " I remembered the trips my mom would take every April to visit family in Europe. The weekend that she'd spend away, coming back spewing about her friends and how much fun it was to be around high society again. "Your mother is Narcissa?"

"You're the daughter with the weak stomach?" We stared at each other for a long moment, neither of us certain what was going to happen next. This boy, whom I had thus far reviled in nearly every way, was the son of my mother's friend? The same son that my mother had always told me I would get along with so well? The smart one who was mischievous and sneaky and oh so fun to be around? The handsome, polite one? So far, only one of these things had proved to be true, and it was the shallowest, least important of them all. Draco Malfoy was attractive, but that did not make up for how pompous, arrogant, horrid, prejudiced, and awful he was. The boy was an absolute prick.

Wanting to stay as far away from our odd relationship as possible, I finally broke the silence. "Anyway," I said, "back to potions." I turned my head down, replaced the parchment I had torn, and scratched out notes as best I could, trying to ignore the grey eyes that had found an unwelcome new interest in me.

…

No one in Gryffindor Tower understood what was happening.

"How can Snape love you so much?" Ron was complaining, for the fifth time that month. "You're always getting top marks! He uses you as an example nearly every class!"

"That's not true," I retorted. "Last week he used Draco."

"He always uses _Malfoy_ ," Ron persisted. "And since when are you so friendly with him?"

"I'm not." I was half reading the novel in my lap, glancing up over the spine to shoot a look at the red head, sitting between his friends.

"You call him _Draco_. And you're in the library every day, cozied up to him over a potions book!"

"It's not every day, Ron. And we're just studying. He's my potions partner."

"Just studying my arse! You spend every Sunday afternoon staring at him, mooning over him. You're fraternizing with the enemy!" His face was turning as red as his hair.

"Whose enemy, Ron?" I was becoming less and less enthusiastic about this conversation, which was a one sided attack on me. "What's he done except be an ass and a Slytherin?"

"He called Hermione—he—last year—"

"He called me a mudblood," Hermione finished for him. "Which was horrid and vile but not a reason that Ruth should be required to hate him. They're just studying, Ronald." She sent a pointed look in his direction.

"I didn't know," I said softly. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but there's nothing I can do. He's my partner. I can't get rid of him."

"I know," she replied, her tone as reasonable as always. "I wouldn't expect you to try to. The fact is, you're both quite good. You make decent partners for each other." She said the last bit with a sigh, sending a glance across the room toward where Seamus and Dean were playing a game of Exploding Snap. If I was counting correctly, Seamus had succeeded in blowing up no fewer than six of Hermione's potions in the last four weeks.

Ron opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, was silenced by his brother's hand smacking the back of his head. "Ronnykins, what are you going on about now?"

"He was being an idiot," Hermione answered for him.

"Nothing out of the ordinary then," Fred smiled, before sliding into the chair beside me. George came waltzing in seconds later, setting himself on the arm of the chair. Ron's face turned red again and he stood with a huff and marched out of the portrait hole.

I tried to turn back to my novel, but George pulled it from my hands. "Jane Austen? Who's this, then?"

"A muggle author. Can I have my book back please?" I reached for it, but he used his height to his advantage.

I found myself on my tiptoes, trying to grab it from his slender fingers, while Fred chuckled behind him. "Want to come flying tomorrow?" Fred asked me as I climbed up on the chair.

"Sure, why not," I panted. "But only if your dolt of a brother gives me my book back!" I lunged for the paperback, missing entirely and having to catch myself on the back of Fred's chair. "Ow!" My knee now bruised, I tried climbing down, only to end up in a heap on the floor. "You _ass_ , George Weasley!" Fred reached an arm down to help me up, but as he hoisted, I got suddenly dizzy and tripped over my own feet. Once again in a heap, this time I fell into his lap.

"Well, love, if you wanted to get closer to me you could have just said so," he winked at me again, making a blush creep up my neck.

"Sorry," I mumbled, trying to push myself up off of him. My arms though, still fairly weak from years of not using them, gave out underneath me and I fell again.

"Oomph!" I had managed to knock the wind out of him. "George, give her the book. She's trying to kill me!"

My face was bright red. I was entirely embarrassed and frustrated and confused as to why I had gotten so dizzy in the first place. "Don't be a jerk. Just help me up!" I growled. George dropped the book on my chair and held out his arms to aid my climb from his brother's lap. Now righted, I furiously brushed off my robes before snatching my book back up and turning angrily to go to my room.

"We still going flying?" I heard one of them call from behind me. I didn't turn back.

I was so completely embarrassed. I had tripped and made a fool of myself. I had landed in a boy's lap. Even with my lack of social experience, I knew the implications of that. I had gotten enough schooling to know what existed there. I knew that sitting in a boy's lap was not something appropriate to do unless he was your father or your significant other, and Fred was definitely neither and would probably never be the latter.

I hated myself for what had just happened. These two had been my first friends and still felt like my only ones. Now I'd done this! If they didn't think I was a freak already, they would now. They'd probably stop talking to me. They'd laugh about me behind my back and whisper just like everyone else. I'd be alone. I was sure of it.

I threw my book at the wall. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

I had new nightmares of Fred and George talking to me like Pansy Parkinson had in the corridor the week before. Their words dripped with venom as they called me a freak. Stupid. Mudblood. Crazy. Kiss up. Slag.

I'm not sure how long they persisted, but I almost welcomed my usual terrors when they finally arrived, as strong and as horrible as ever.

 **A/N: I know it seems like Draco may have changed suddenly in this chapter...he hasn't. Don't worry.**

 **In regards to some reviews I received: In general, thank you guys for reviewing and for the encouragement!**

 **hp and stargirl- (I love your username btw. Stargirl was the first book I ever loved.) Thanks for pointing that out to me! That's what happens when I pick up a chapter to continue it after two weeks; continuity errors. I didn't make it as clear as I should have, but the original meeting was just between Ruth's parents and Dumbledore. She wasn't present. Sorry for the confusion, and thanks for your review! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione was tapping her foot rather impatiently while I finished pinning my hair back before we went to dinner.

"We're going to be late, Ruth. Of all the nights for you to be running ten minutes behind!"

"Calm down, I'm coming." I secured the final pin and ran past her down the stairs. "Hustle, Hermione!" I laughed as I soared down the staircase, turning back over my shoulder to see if she was following. This lapse in judgement and understanding of basic motor skills left me tripping on the last step and tumbling straight to the floor. Trying to suppress the embarrassed blush creeping into my cheeks, I pulled myself back up as quickly as I could and was brushing the dust off of my robes when she finally met me at the bottom.

"Ready?" I asked her. She just gaped at me, I'm sure wondering if it was possible for me to kill myself in the five minute walk down to the Great Hall.

"Don't hurt yourself," she mumbled with what I thought was a laugh as she brushed past me toward the portrait hole. "The boys said they'd meet us down there."

"Great!" I was practically skipping in the hallways. The feeling of exhilaration I was feeling was very new after having felt so weak lately. I wasn't sure what had been happening—if it was just my body adjusting again to being active, if I had come down with a cold or some other ailment—but I'd been feeling rather out of it for weeks. Tonight though, nothing was going to upset me. It was the night before Halloween, which meant that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were due to arrive! The excitement had been palpable across the entire castle for the last few days, and it was finally coming to its peak, right there in my chest. I was about to be introduced to witches and wizards from parts of the world I had never seen and be united with the rest of Hogwarts in solidarity and anticipation.

I hadn't felt that yet; people were still whispering about me. I could hear them in the hallways on my way to class, behind me at meals, even in the library on Sundays while I was studying with Draco. Sundays were always the most unbearable, though. I could handle the gossip most of the time, just by ignoring it. On Sundays, Draco would hear the mutterings as well, and they were often about the two of us together.

"Wonder why Malfoy's taken such an interest in the new girl."

"What's going on between them, do you think?"

"Maybe he's paying her for some sort of, well, you know."

When I was on my own in the hall or with Fred and George at dinner, I'd just pretend I wasn't hearing anything. I'd get through that particular moment and deal with it later. But the whispers were always about me in those cases, or about Fred and George who could give less than a shit about what everyone thought of them. When Draco Malfoy was involved, however, he wasn't about to take other people gossiping about him without saying something.

He'd sit idly for about twenty minutes, trying to focus on the newest paper or project Snape had assigned, but would eventually snap his blonde head up and, with a sharp jerk of his chin, turn to glare at the students peering out from between the stacks.

"Do you have a problem?" He'd hiss. "Is there something I can help you with?" Usually just the terrifying volumes that his eyes could speak and the way that they sent a cold jab through to your very soul when he glared at you would be enough to ward off any onlookers. Once in a while he'd catch a first or second year giggling behind him and all he'd have to do is move his hand to his wand, which he always kept out on the table next to his text, and they'd trip over themselves trying to get away.

He was still frightening in so many ways, but he seemed to have let up on me in the weeks since our realization that our mothers were close friends and we had actually, in a matter of speaking, known each other since we were old enough to understand our mothers' stories. He'd still jab me with an insult nearly every time I saw him, but now they were about my appearance or my intelligence or my circle of friends rather than my blood status. I'd feel his eyes watching me every so often when I passed him around campus and once in a while I'd turn during class or while we were studying and find a stunning gray gaze fixed on me. I was doing my best to ignore it.

While Malfoy had been acting stranger than ever, Hermione, bless her heart, had been saddled with me as her unofficial girlfriend, as we had both surrounded ourselves with a predominately male circle that was three quarters Weasley. She still spent most of her time with Ron and Harry while I was usually curled up by the fire reading while Fred and George schemed beside me or was out learning to fly with them, but our paths started crossing more and more often. We'd wake up together, walk to and from meals, turn in at the same time most nights; having already determined that we were on similar playing fields in academia, we'd also compare notes after classes most days, which is why the poor girl found herself rushing to the hall with me now, after a rather extensive Transfiguration study session before what would be, I was sure, the most important dinner of my life to date.

It wasn't until after Hermione and I had trekked all the way to the hall that I remembered too late that Dumbledore had asked us all to meet outside to welcome the visiting schools. "Damn it!" I breathed at the sight of the Great Hall, empty except for Filch, who was setting out extra chairs at the head table. "Hermione, we have to go outside!"

"Oh blast, you're right! How could we have been so stupid!" She whirled around on her heal and ran, faster than we'd already been traveling, in the opposite direction. "I don't suppose _you_ remembered _your_ cloak, did you?" she called behind her.

"No such luck," I replied to the back of her bushy mane. "I guess we'll have to deal with the cold." When we finally reached the front of the castle, we slowed down, so as to seem less conspicuous in our tardy entrance. I stood on my tiptoes to try to spot the boys and found two starkly red heads in the middle of the crowd, glancing this way and that, looking for something. "Come on!" I grabbed Hermione's wrist and pushed our way through the crowd toward the twins.

When we finally broke through to them, I noticed the gigantic powder blue carriage at the front of the crowd. "What's that?" I asked, causing them both to jump.

"There you are!" George looked down at me. "What took you so long?"

" _Someone_ just had to go over Transfiguration notes right this second," I said, throwing a glance at Hermione, who had sidled up to Harry and Ron just in front of us.

"And _someone_ ," she said over her shoulder, "just had to make sure her hair was perfect!" I stuck my tongue out at the back of her head and turned my attention back to the monstrosity of a carriage before us.

"So what is that?" I asked again.

"Beauxbatons," Fred replied. "That's their headmistress over there—the giant woman." He pointed and I saw the woman in question. She was taller than even Hagrid, conversing with Dumbledore about something I couldn't hear.

"Holy cats," I said. "I've never seen anyone that huge."

"I know, right?" Fred looked down at me for the first time. "Oi, where's your cloak?"

"Oh, funny story, actually." I rubbed the back of my neck and wrapped my arms tighter around my already shivering form. "We might have forgotten that we were supposed to be outside."

He laughed at me. "Of course you did, you cheeky little—"

"Hey!" I tried to look tougher and more respectable, but it was difficult while shivering.

"Oh just take mine," he laughed again, unclipping it at the collar. "I'll be fine." He wrapped the fading, but warm garment around my shoulders, keeping one arm draped over them as well. I pretended not to be breathing in the sweet and musky smell on his cloak and tried to ignore the fact that I was pressed up against his side the way that I was, but it was hard to. I was warm all over, and it wasn't just because I had a cloak now.

"Oh, blimey, Fred, look," George said suddenly, causing Fred to pull his attention, and his arm, away from me. "Is that Krum?"

"It is! I didn't know he went to Durmstang."

"Viktor Krum?" I stood on my tiptoes again, but still couldn't see much of anything. "Like, the famous seeker?"

"I thought you didn't know anything about Quidditch," George questioned.

"I don't play it," I responded. "That doesn't mean I've been completely oblivious to it." I was waiting to get a glimpse of anything other than the Beauxbatons carriage and headmistress when we were all ushered back into the castle by Professor McGonagall and into a beautiful feast in the Great Hall.

Filch was still setting out chairs—he did every job so slowly it made me want to die—but the hall was no longer empty. Even though there were only a handful of students from each visiting school, the hall seemed so much fuller. Maybe it was the excitement that filled everyone, maybe it was the release of anticipation that had been held in for nearly two months, maybe it was just that the tables were closer together than usual or something, but it felt so warm and inviting inside the Great Hall, like I hadn't ever felt.

Fred, George, and I all sat at the Gryffindor table, apart from everyone else, as usual, and dug into what was a spread of some of the greatest food I had ever eaten. Even if I had been eating normal food for most of my life, I'm sure I would've said that. There was so much of it and it all tasted so wonderful.

At one point towards the end of the meal, George nudged his brother. "Check out those Beauxbatons girls at the Ravenclaw table." Fred looked up. "Ah, Freddie, we are going to have _so much fun_ this year." Fred sort of nodded an agreement.

"They're beautiful all right."

I turned to look at the girls in question and found, with a bit of an angry pull in my stomach, that they had some sort of unearthly beauty that must only exist in their country. "Hey, you two," I said when I turned back to the twins. "Keep you tongues in your mouths and your business in your pants."

Fred's mouth fell open with shock. "George, did our sweet little Ruthie just say that?"

"I believe she did, my dear brother. I believe she did." He took a sip of cider and looked at me over the rim of his cup. "And here I thought you were so innocent." He shook his head at me and I snorted.

It was at this point that Dumbledore stood at introduced Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Cooperation, to present to us the rules and regulations of the Tri Wizard Tournament. Through the majority of Crouch's lecture, I was treated to the lovely sounds of Fred and George complaining incessantly about the age rule and their inability to enter a deadly contest for eternal glory.

I nearly punched them both.

They shut up though, when, from an otherwise normal box, Dumbledore pulled a giant, roughly hewn goblet full of fire.

"Bloody hell," Fred whispered. Crouch explained that there would be twenty four hours during which wizards and witches of age could enter their names in the goblet, to be chosen to compete and that he'd be drawing an age line around it as security.

"We can get past an age line," George remarked, "Can't we Fred?"

"We'll whip up an aging potion tonight!" Fred smiled triumphantly. "Oh this is going to be great!"

"Eternal glory!"

" _And_ prize money!"

"It'll be the greatest moment of our lives!"

As we wandered back to the tower, I finally spoke up. "Um, guys, I don't know that an aging potion is going to work."

They both just looked at me. "What do you mean? It's just an age line."

"Yes. An age line _drawn by a government official._ Who, no doubt, knows a fair deal of magic and how to make an age line properly. Not to mention that an aging potion is fairly complex and must be done very specifically to achieve desired results. Unless you have someone who's incredibly gifted making that potion for you, I have a bad feeling about this." They were still just looking at me, dumbfounded. "I just think you should be careful."

"You realize who you're talking to, don't you?" George said as he swung his frame through the portrait hole. "Nothing is going to go wrong. We'll be Triwizard Champions by midnight tomorrow and you'll be eating your words!"

"Look, I can't stop you. Just—be careful." I was standing at the foot of the stairway to the girls' dormitory. I was so exhausted and so ready for bed.

"We will be. Don't worry so much." Fred tousled my hair and winked at me. He was always winking. "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow, you'll be hanging out with champions!" He and his brother high fived as I turned to go to bed.

"Goodnight," I called out behind me.

My dorm was freezing, for no good reason at all. I added wood to the fire and put on my warmest pajamas, but was still cold. None of the other girls seemed to be having the same issue though, which was odd. How could they not be as cold as I was? It was like the Antarctic in our room!

I just shook my head as I watched them climb into their beds in shorts and tank tops, ready to freeze to death. Resigned to the cold, and the fact that no one could feel it as intensely as I was feeling it, I snuggled as deeply as I could into bed, with my cloak wrapped around me for extra warmth.

It wasn't until I woke up to the smell of cinnamon and sulfur, after the first dreamless night I'd had in weeks, that I realized it was Fred's.

 **A/N: Sorry about my absence! I've been living the stressful life of a college student and had to wait for winter break to have a chance to write. I promise, I'm trying to keep up. Thanks for reading, have a marvelous existence until we meet again!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Before we begin, please notice that this chapter mentions it being the second week of December, but then discusses events on Halloween. This is not a continuity error, but the result of one chapter, in which there was a sort of "frame story" format, becoming so long that it had to be divided into two. The next chapter, addressing the "present" events of the second week of December will hopefully be up before the end of this week. Happy reading!**

By the second week of December, things had settled down significantly. Of course, there was a bit of animosity between schools, but it was nothing more than what appeared to be friendly rivalry because of the competition.

The champions had been picked on Halloween, as specified, but somehow the goblet had chosen four champions. Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, and Cedric Diggory had been chosen as the three champions when, suddenly, the goblet threw out another name—Harry's. The school was turned upside down and it still hadn't righted itself. No one understood how Harry's name was placed in the goblet in the first place: not even him.

Needless to say, Fred and George's plan for an aging potion didn't turn out how they'd expected. On Halloween morning, I came down from my room to find them in our usual place by the fire's hearth, heads bent together conspiringly.

"What do you two think you're up to?" I asked. Both heads popped up, almost nervously, and whipped around to face me. The tension in their expressions melted when they saw it was me.

"Oh, Ruth. It's just you." George ran his palm over his forehead, pulling his hair out of his face. "I was worried it was Hermione."

"What's so bad about Hermione?" I asked, noticing that this hadn't answered my previous question at all.

"She'll turn us in!" Fred shifted himself in his chair and patted the arm, inviting me to sit down. "We can trust you though, so there's nothing to worry about."

"What'll she turn you in for if she catches you, exactly?" I settled myself on the chair's arm and leaned in to join their conspiracy.

"The aging potion we're working on, of course!" George looked at me excitedly.

"What? But there's no time for you to make an aging potion! It'll take at least twelve hours to brew and your names have to be in the goblet by six o'clock tonight, and that's assuming it works in the first place. I thought we talked about this last night!"

"To be fair, you talked _at_ us last night," George responded. "And it's not like anything you said would have swayed us anyway. Just think of what's at stake here, Ruth! Eternal glory! Fame! Fortune!"

"And possibly death!" I countered.

Fred ignored what I'd said and instead explained to me: "We started the brewing last night. We took turns sleeping and stirring and it should be done around noon. Then we take it, submit our names, and hope that the goblet chooses one of us."

"You're both insane. Are either of you skilled enough in potions to definitely _know_ that the potion will work? Do you know the side effects of aging potions?"

Fred looked at me and said simply "We were going to ask you to help, but you were so against it that we didn't bother."

"We'll be fine," George added. "I looked it up. It's a temporary aging potion that should last a few hours so that we can pass the age line. The worst that could happen is the enchantment being suspended for a longer amount of time. We might be seventeen for a month, but nothing else could go wrong."

I looked at them both incredulously. There was no way they actually thought this would work! Not to mention what could happen if it _did_. One of them could end up in a battle for his life! Facing dangers beyond imagination, risking his neck, performing in challenges far above his skill level just for the sake of glory and a couple of galleons. It was preposterous! But, they both wanted it so badly and they hadn't been listening to reason so far, so I gave up.

"Okay," I said with a smile that I hoped didn't look too fake. "If you're sure." I hoped, for all of our sakes, that the potion wouldn't work.

It didn't. It let them pass the age line alright, but as soon as they stepped past it, they aged decades. Each grew a long white beard, wrinkles, and shrunk a few inches. Their surprise and their new elderly status didn't stop them from trying to tear each other to pieces for convincing themselves it would work. I stood watching in what I can only describe as amused horror until they finally rolled out of the age line. I sauntered toward the two, who were still at each other's necks, and stood beside them until they noticed I was there.

"Care for some help?" I asked as they looked up at me pathetically.

"You think you can reverse it?" George asked hopefully. I think it was George. The beards made it harder to tell and whatever enchantment was over them had changed their voices as well.

"Maybe. C'mon." I turned and headed toward the library, hearing them scrambling to stand and follow me. When I strolled through the doors with two men of at least sixty (who, consequently, were still arguing and wouldn't shut up) in tow, every eye became trained on me. I took a deep breath and marched through the stacks; I was looking for the right book and I refused to be bothered by everyone around me.

"This is all your fault," George was saying, not at all quietly, to his brother. "You had to convince me to try this stupid idea!"

"My fault?" Fred countered. "You were the one who told me that nothing could go wrong!"

"Hey!" I interrupted in a half-whisper, "You two! Shut it!"

Their wrinkled faces looked at me again, as if just now remembering that I was here after arguing the full five minute walk to the library.

"Do you want to be kicked out of here before I can figure out how to reverse this?" I wasn't about to tell them that I had already found the book I needed and was holding it in my hands at that very moment. One of them muttered an apology under his breath as they both looked down at the floor, embarrassed. And rightly so. "Right. Anyway. Let's get going. I'll just stop and check this out."

They followed me up to the front desk, where Madam Pince, despite throwing a judgmental glance behind me, thankfully didn't ask any questions. We were on our way out, book in hand, ingredients to be gathered already being sorted in my head, when we met the very specific sneer of one Draco Malfoy, on his way into the library with Viktor Krum.

He saw me right away. "Doro," he said, with a little less ice than previous. It was becoming a pattern; every time I ran into him, he'd say my name a bit less coolly than the time before, like he was finally getting used to it. He still wouldn't call me Ruth.

"Hello Draco," I replied, I hoped cordially. "What're you up to?" I hoped he wouldn't perceive this as prying. I was actually enjoying that he and I were getting along a bit better.

"Oh," he drawled, in his usual icy tone, "I'm just showing Viktor here around the castle." He nodded behind him to the Quidditch star, who was looking a bit uncomfortable to be so close to this exchange.

I held my hand out to him and introduced myself, hoping to make him feel a bit less awkward. "Ruth Doro," I said with a smile. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"I am Viktor," he replied with an accent so thick I could barely understand him. "It is lovely to meet you." We shook and nodded to each other, and Draco turned his attention to me again.

"So what are you doing here? And with whatever lot of trash these two are?" He motioned to Fred and George behind me, who had been surprisingly quiet. I turned to find them glaring silently at Draco, which was more well behaved than I had expected them to be in this situation.

Draco's eyebrow was cocked in a way that I couldn't decipher as judgmental or curious as I answered. "Fred and George just had an aging potion go wrong, so I came to pick up a book with an antidote."

He nodded. "Fifth edition of _Glamour Spells & Potions_?" I held up the exact book in question and he nodded at me. He was doing a lot of nodding. And being awfully silent and cordial. Or so I thought. When he opened his mouth again, after a pause that felt like it stretch into eternity, it was to say "Figures the Weasley twins would muck up something as simple as an aging potion. Bunch of daft, poor, ugly traitors, the lot of them."

"Listen here, Malfoy!" One of the boys spoke up behind me, angrily. "Let me tell you—"

I held up my hand to stop him and was surprised when it worked. "You guys go," I said over my shoulder. "I'll be right behind you." It took a moment, but they left, muttering to themselves ways to get back at Draco. Fred threw an almost concerned glance at me as they passed through the grand double doors and turned down the hall.

You really shouldn't be hanging around with the likes of them, you know. Our families had much greater legacies than that," Draco said now, his long nose pointed in the air haughtily.

I stepped as close to him as I dared, our toes mere inches from each other. I glared at him and he met my eyes with a passive expression, which only made me angrier. "Listen, Draco," I said in an angry whisper. "You can talk to me like that. I don't care about it when you direct it at me and I'm stuck with you anyway, but you really can't be talking about my friends like that."

He narrowed his eyes at me and made a scoffing noise. "They shouldn't be your friends, Doro. Your mother ran in much more respectable social circles. You should be too."

"Regardless of what my mother did and how you feel about them, Fred and George are my friends, which is more than I can say for you. And you are not allowed to speak to them or about them like that around me. Understood?"

"I'm only trying to help you, Doro," He was saying now. He took a step back and held up his hands, as if in surrender. "People are going to get the wrong idea if you spend too much time with blood traitors. You don't want people to think that you're one too."

"You've seen how good I am with potions, Draco," was all I could say. "Don't make me slip something in your tea." I took a step back from him and looked him over. That blonde hair, those piercing grey eyes, a lean, muscular frame, and that smirk. That stupid smirk that he was giving me now, like he was king of everything.

"Oh please, Doro. You wouldn't have the spine to do anything to anyone." He chuckled. "I'll see you on Sunday." He walked past me, bumping his shoulder with mine as he did so. Viktor, who I'd forgotten was there, looked quickly between the two of us, his eye brows furrowed and his lips pursed. After a moment, he nodded at me and followed Draco with a swift pace, disappearing into the stacks.

I was fuming when I got back to the common room, but thankfully the boys didn't pester me too much. It seemed that they had released most of their frustrations about Draco before I'd gotten there, which was a relief, because all I wanted to do was make them the antidote and take a nap; I was getting light headed and my stomach was pinching.

Fred and George waited patiently by the fire as I went to my trunk to grab the ingredients the antidote called for. I dug around until I found my potions kit—a gift from my parents before I left for school, it was an expandable case that had a supply of most basic potions ingredients, tools, and recipes, as well as a few exotic items for more complicated enchantments—and raced back down to where they had already set a cauldron over the flame.

While I stirred and added ingredients, Fred apologized.

"We really should have listened to you, Ruth. I can't believe we actually thought this would work." His voice, from what I could hear, was starting to return to normal, but the beard and wrinkles hadn't shown any sign of disappearing and he didn't seem to be returning to his normal height, so I kept brewing. It was a quickly made potion, after all.

"I still think it would've worked," George said, refusing to admit defeat. "Dumbledore's age line was just too powerful. The man's a mad genius. Probably saw it coming and put an extra enchantment on it."

"That might be true," I said thoughtfully, "but this _is_ one of the side effects of an aging potion. I tried telling you that they're tricky. You don't always get the desired results. Sometimes you brew to age twenty weeks and you age twenty years. Sometimes you don't age at all. There have been a few cases where the potion completely reversed its effect and caused people to become younger…It was really risky for you guys to do this."

"Oi," George was still trying to defend himself, "we ended up just fine. Fifty-some years older than expected, but just fine!"

I let out an exasperated breath. "Whatever, George." The rest of our time was spent in silence, but I could feel Fred's eyes training themselves on me every few minutes. I'd glance behind me and he'd turn his head to look in another direction, but he was definitely watching me.

Eventually the potion was done and I divided it into two glasses and handed them to the elderly men at my side. "Drink up." They did. It only took a few seconds for their beards to start receding and for them to grow a few inches. Before long, they were back to their normal selves and helping me clean up.

"Well," Fred said once everything was tucked away in my bag, "we're gonna head out and take a few laps around the castle. You wanna tag a long?"

"No, thanks though." I yawned. "I think I'm going to take a nap before the feast."

"Sounds like a plan. Enjoy that. We're just gonna grab our cloaks and—"

"Oh! That's right!" I suddenly remembered Fred's cloak, sitting folded on my bed. "I've got your cloak Fred! Wait just a minute!" I left a very confused looking Fred and George behind me as I climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitory again, stashed my potions kit, and grabbed Fred's cloak. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, George was gone. "Where'd he go?" I asked Fred.

"Went to get _his_ cloak," he answered. "So, uh, how'd you end up with mine, exactly?" I hoped I wasn't blushing as I handed it back to him.

"You gave it to me yesterday, remember? While we were outside? I forgot to give it back."

"Oh, right! Of course!" He threw it over his shoulders and fastened it. "Forgot about that, what with all the potion making and everything."

"Right," I replied, starting to feel the heat crawl up my neck. For whatever reason, this always happened when I was alone with him. I didn't understand why. I liked Fred, certainly, but not in a way that would make me blush every time I was near him. At least I didn't think so.

His nose twitched and he lifted an arm to sniff at his cloak. "Why does it smell like—" he sniffed again "—vanilla?" That was it. I was sure my face was _bright_ red. Oh merlin. How do you tell a boy you slept _with his cloak on_? How do you tell him that's your perfume that he's smelling all over it? These would all be normal things to say to your boyfriend, I suppose, but Fred wasn't my boyfriend! He was my completely platonic, older friend whom I definitely did _not_ need thinking I was obsessed with him.

"Well," I said with a laugh, coming up with an excuse on the fly, "It was in the girls' dorm all day. What'd you expect?" He nodded, and I was in the clear. _Thank Merlin._ George came meandering down the stairs and settled himself next to his brother.

"Are we going flying or not?" he asked impatiently.

"You guys have fun," I said with a tired smile. "I'll see you at the feast."

George smiled, clapped me on the back, and started for the portrait hole. Fred, on the other hand, paused and looked at me a moment longer. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine," I said, though I wasn't quite sure myself. Getting dizzy and nauseous like this in the middle of the day was not supposed to be happening. "I just need some rest."

His big blue eyes were still looking uncertain when his brother called impatiently from the hallway. "Okay," he finally said, slowly. He moved, like he was going to go past me and start for the door, but instead, I suddenly found his arms around me, squeezing me in a hug. Cinnamon filled my nose and warmth spread all over my body and there was even a lingering scent of old person, which made me smile. For just that short moment, I forgot everything except that my face was pressed to his chest, his arms were around my waist, and his face was in my hair. He was literally wrapped around me, like he was protecting me from something I didn't know was there. Honestly, I think it was just his tall frame trying to hug mine and finding it hard to fit. In any case, I stood there, soaking up the warmth and the comfort and the weird, exciting feeling I felt in my spine for the few seconds that I could.

"Thanks for saving our butts today," I heard him laugh just before he pulled away. When he did, I instantly missed the contact.

"No problem," I replied simply. "Have fun."

"Thanks," he smiled at me and then wrinkled his nose again. He leaned down by my head an inhaled. "Hmm…" he straightened up. "Vanilla." He smiled even bigger before he started to walk away, winking at me as he passed. He was always winking at me.

I stood there for a second, dumbfounded at what had just happened, but mostly infuriated with myself for being so dumbfounded by it. My friend had hugged me. He'd thanked me for fixing a problem. That was it. Nothing else had happened. Yet my feet refused to move and my muscles refused to function. My brain couldn't think of anything but the smell of his sweater and how soft it was against my cheek and I swear I could still feel his arms around my waist. I wanted to slap myself out of it, but knew that slapping myself in the middle of the common room would be even odder than standing there, eyes wide, unable to move.

Eventually my legs started working again and I found my way to my room, where I burrowed deep into the covers, still wondering why it was so cold. I fell asleep fast, trying, but failing, to think of any source of warmth other than Fred's arms.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hi! Sorry for having not updated in a year...a lot has been happening and I wasn't sure that I was going to continue with this story or, honestly, with fanfic at all, but I really love these characters and I want to keep playing around with them. So updates might happen regularly, they might not, but I'm hoping I can finish this story. We pick up here, with Ruth, in the second week of December.**

Professor McGonagall had called all of the Gryffindors from year four and above into the transfiguration classroom. When we arrived, all of the desks had been pushed aside, leaving a large, empty space in the middle of the classroom. We all looked around, confused.

"What's going on, do you think?" Fred asked me.

"This isn't a normal thing for you guys?" I replied.

"What? No, of course not!" He looked at me incredulously.

I shrugged. "I'm new. I don't know what kind of weird traditions you guys have yet."

"Well this isn't one of them."

Professor McGonagall came sweeping out of her office on the other side of the room.

"Boys to this side, girls to the other, please." She indicated with a gesture where we were supposed to go.

"Goodbye forever, I guess," George said, clapping me on the shoulder and making me stumble. My balance still wasn't the greatest, even after weeks of lightheadedness, off and on. I followed the rest of the girls and stood quietly next to Hermione.

"Probably has something to do with the Triwizard Tournament," she said, without being prompted. I nodded.

After we'd separated ourselves, McGonagall began again. "In two weeks, on Christmas Eve, we will be holding the Yule Ball, an event that promotes unity, hospitality, and friendship, and a tradition in the Triwizard Tournament. You will all, I am sure, uphold the great name of Godric Gryffindor by being on your best and most appropriate behavior on that night. However," she paused here, as if she was expecting questions, "the Yule Ball is, first and foremost, a dance."

Some of the girls started chittering excitedly. "Quiet please, girls." They silenced. "Just as I cannot have you disgracing our noble house with inappropriate behavior, I cannot have you embarrassing us by not knowing how to properly dance. So. Mr. Weasley, if you would please join me." She held out her hand for Ron, who looked equal parts confused and mortified.

With a great deal of jeering and teasing from the boys, Ron suffered through a five minute lesson with Professor McGonagall. I watched Fred and George across the room, pantomiming dancing and kissing and laughing at their brother. I knew that for years, they would bring this up. They would tease him constantly about being in love with McGonagall and dancing with her and how it must have been a dream come true for him.

It wasn't long before McGonagall released Ron and turned to the rest of us. "Partner up," she said simply. There was a silence. Nobody moved. Until Neville stood up across the room and suddenly, it seemed like all hell had broken loose. Every girl bolted from their spot to grab the guy she wanted. Not one to lose a fight, I made my way, determined, towards the other side of the room, eyes set on the twins. One of them would have to be unlucky enough to be my partner, as I refused to dance with someone I wasn't close to.

By the time I'd reached them, Angelina had already nabbed George and I could see Katie Bell making her way towards Fred, but he noticed me in the terrifying throng of females and pushed his way to my side.

"Want to dance, Doro?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Not really," I answered honestly, "but I suppose we have to."

He laughed. "Well there's no one I'd rather suffer through this with."

He took my hand in his and led me to the center of the classroom. His hand found my waist and I felt a shiver run up my spine. We started stepping, just as McGonagall had told us. One-two-three. One-two-three. One-two-three.

"Closer together, Miss Doro, Mr. Weasley. You need to be closer together." Fred nodded and stepped into me, so our chests were mere inches apart. I could smell cinnamon again. Goddamn. He always smelled like cinnamon. It was intoxicating. I forgot what I was doing. Then I stepped on his foot.

"Ow! Distracted by something?" I looked up at his face to see him smirking down at me.

"What? No. Just keep dancing, Weasley."

So we did.

"Thinking about asking anyone to the ball?" I asked, just trying to make conversation. I figured if we talked, I'd focus less on the fact that he was touching me and I could smell him and it was making me feel things that I shouldn't be feeling for my platonic guy friend.

"I guess. There's this one girl I'm thinking about asking. I've gotta wait though. You know me, I always have to do things in a big way." I nodded. I was curious who this girl was, but I'd learned by now with Fred that if he wanted you to know something he'd tell you and if he didn't, he'd purposely leave that information out.

We kept going; one-two-three. One-two-three. And all of a sudden there was a splitting pain in my head. I stopped and pulled away from him, bending over at my waist and clutching my head.

"Ruth? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Fred crouched down to try to see my face.

"My head really hurts all of a sudden. I think I need to stop." I spoke through clenched teeth. It felt like something was trying to dig its way out of my eye sockets.

"Okay. I'm going to walk you to the infirmary."

"No, no! I don't need to see Madame Pomfrey. I just need to go to sleep." I tried to look up at him to assure him everything was fine, but the moment I opened my eyes, the pain became so much worse I had to close them again.

"Alright." He sounded unsure. "I'll go tell McGonagall that I'm taking you back to the dormitory." He left for just a moment and was right back, putting his hand on my arm to steer me out of the classroom.

Once we were out in the hallway, he let go. "I'm going to carry you."

"What? No!"

"It's fine, Ruth. I'll put you on my back and carry you upstairs."

I kept refusing, but eventually the pain became so bad that I gave in. I needed to get to bed, no matter how humiliating it might be to get there.

I couldn't see the stares that we must have gotten on our way to the tower, with me on Fred's back, my face buried the crook of his neck, but I could feel them on my back as we moved. If everyone already didn't think I was a freak, they certainly did now.

We made it to the tower much faster than we would have if I had won the argument and walked. Fred headed for the stairs to the girls dorms, but I stopped him.

"You can't go up there. The staircase is enchanted."

"What are you talking about?" He asked and stepped on the first step.

"As soon as you make it halfway up the first landing, it'll turn into a ramp and you'll come sliding down. With me still on your back."

"That's ridiculous! I'm taking you up to your bed." He kept going, despite my protests.

"Really, Fred, this is a bad idea. You should put me dow-" the stairs transfigured and soon we were in a heap on the floor at the bottom of them.

I opened my eyes, barely, to find Fred hovering over me.

"Sorry," he whispered, but he didn't make an effort to move. He just sat there, propped up on his elbows, just staring at my face, our noses nearly touching.

My breath was caught in my throat. I couldn't respond, so I just sort of half nodded my acceptance of an apology. I could feel his breath on my face. His chest was pressed against mine. There were green specs in his eyes that I hadn't been close enough to notice before, but I was certainly noticing them now. My heart was beating out of my chest and I was praying to Merlin that he couldn't feel it against his.

Suddenly, his face was moving even closer to mine. I held my breath. Was he going to-

"Looks like you hit your head on the way down." He was peering at a bruise forming above my left eyebrow. I let the breath loose.

"I guess."

"Sorry. That's my fault."

"It's fine. But," I winced as I realized again just how badly my head ached, "I should really go upstairs and get some rest."

"Right." He stood up and helped me do the same. "If you need anything, just let...actually, you might want to wait until the girls get back to decide that you need something."

"Right. Thanks for bringing me back, Fred." I turned to go upstairs.

"Of course. Feel better." He stepped closer to me and half raised his arm, like he was going to do something, but he dropped it just as fast. "Sleep well."

I fell asleep fast.


	9. Chapter 9

When I woke up and I looked out the window, it was mid morning. Mid morning? Had I slept through Saturday afternoon and night? I slowly got up and made my way to the bathroom, where I found Lavender at the sink.

"Hey, what day is it?"

"It's Sunday, sleepyhead. You slept through all of yesterday afternoon. Must have been quite a tiring time with Fred yesterday, huh?"

I stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh please. Do you really think we all believe that you suddenly just got a headache? We've all used some excuse like that at some point."

"What? No, nothing happened. I-"

"Hey, don't worry about it." She winked as she walked past me towards the door. "Good job by the way. Fred's pretty hot."

She left, leaving me standing there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. What was she talking about?

I climbed into the shower and let the hot water run down my back. Did people actually think that-that Fred and I had snuck off to… I wanted to die. I knew that the rumor would spread. Soon Fred would hear it. What if he thought I had started it? That I had gone around telling people that he and I had fooled around or something? It would ruin our friendship, and I couldn't stand it if that happened. He was my best friend.

I mean, sure. Yesterday, dancing with him had made me dizzy, and not in the motion sickness kind of way. And when he'd brought me back upstairs I'd thought he was going to kiss me, but that was way out of line for me to ever think. Fred was my friend. Nothing more. And I needed that to be clear to everyone. Especially to him.

I didn't want to ruin Fred's reputation. People were already giving him and George weird looks because they were always hanging out with me. If people started thinking that he and I were...a couple...regardless of whether it was true or not, everyone would think so poorly of him. I knew that Fred usually didn't care what people thought, but that could only go so far. Eventually he'd get tired of being the odd one out. He'd be damaged by association with me and I couldn't do that to him.

I decided. I'd make my best effort to be clear that he and I were just friends. I wasn't sure how I'd do it, but I had to.

I got dressed slowly and made my way to the common room with only severe amounts of anxiety. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I noticed Fred sitting in his chair by the fire, same as always. George was beside him, both frantically writing. Probably an essay that was due the next day.

Fred glanced up and saw me, and then suddenly he was right in front of me, looking down with a smile.

"How're you feeling?"

"Better, thanks." He grinned.

"Good! Listen, George and I were going to go flying after we finished our essays for Flitwick. Want to come with?" He nodded towards his brother, who waved, then turned his attention back to his Charms essay. I looked between them nervously.

"I um, actually, I'm on my way to meet Draco to study, so…"

Fred coughed. "Right, right. Your Sunday Study Date."

"It's not a date." I rolled my eyes.

"No, I know. I know." There was a silence. "Just be careful with that guy."  
"I know. I am." I looked up at Fred. "You know, he's not as bad as you guys think."

"He's a prick, Ruth."

"I know. But he's also really smart and I think there's probably some sort of human heart in there somewhere. My mom always said that he was such a sweet kid. That has to still be in there. And I'm sure I'll find it."

"Right." Fred looked at me, and then at the floor. "Well, if you decide that you can't take anymore of ferret face, you know where to find us."

"Right." I started to leave when he called after me.

"Ruth?" I turned back to him. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

I nodded. "Thanks."

I could feel Katie Bell glaring at my back as I climbed through the portrait hole.

I dragged myself to the library. I was sure that I'd hurt Fred's feelings somehow. I knew he didn't like Draco, but he seemed really bummed that I was going to study instead of going flying with them. Still, I needed to start distancing myself, at least a little bit, from him.

Draco was sitting at our usual table, books already open. As I approached, he stood up, which was odd, to say the least. Draco usually could care less about proper decorum as far as I was concerned. After I'd taken a seat, I saw the envelope he was holding out to me. I looked curiously from the letter to him.

He looked at me expectantly. "It's from our mothers. I got a larger parcel this morning with letters in it addressed to the both of us. I've already read mine." I reached out and cautiously took it from him.

"What's it about?" I asked.

"It's all written in there. You might as well just read it." He picked up his quill and turned back to his work.

I tore open the envelope.

 _Ruth, Sweetheart,_

 _I have wonderful news! Narcissa and I have been talking and have decided that, since you and Draco seem to have forged a friendship of sorts and since you're feeling so much better, that it was finally time for us all to get together!_

 _We'll be spending Christmas this year with the Malfoys. You'll finally get to meet Narcissa and you'll get to see your grandparents and my entire side of the family at their Christmas party. Won't that be wonderful?_

 _Narcissa already has it all arranged. They're getting one of the wings of the manor ready for us, so that the three of us can be comfortable and still appreciate our own family while we're staying with them. You'll be free to explore, of course. I think you'll especially love the library at Malfoy Manor; it's quite expansive! I'd say that it's one of the largest private collections in Europe!_

 _Now, we know that you two have the Yule Ball on Christmas Eve, so on Christmas morning, we'll arrange for you to be brought home specially. Usually during Tri-Wizard years, all of the students stay on campus, but we've talked to Dumbledore and he's willing to make an exception for you._

 _I am so excited for you to finally experience all of this with me. I've been wanting to introduce you to this world since you were born, sweetheart. Your father thinks it's a wonderful idea as well._

 _We absolutely cannot wait to see you!_

 _Love always,_

 _Mom_

I looked up at Draco to find that he had started watching me again. "What is this?"

"Can't you read? It seems you'll be spending Christmas with us this year." He looked bored.

"Well, yes, but why?" I put the letter down.

"For the reasons it says, obviously. Assuming your mother explained it the same way mine did, they want our families to finally meet and spend time together or some rot."

"Well, that's nice, I suppose."

"Yes, I suppose so." He stared at me during a long silence, those piercing gray eyes searching my own. What was he looking for?

After a few moments, I cleared my throat. "Right. Well. Should we study, then?"

"Why do you look so tired?"

This surprised me. "What?"

"You look tired. I mean, you always look tired, but today it's worse than usual. Why?" He asked it as though this were an answer I could get wrong. Like he was

quizzing me about the properties of a ginger root.

"I was a little sick yesterday is all. I guess it took a bit of a toll on me."

"Hmm." He shrugged his shoulders and turned to his books. With a deep sigh, I did the same.

For a few hours, we sat like this across from each other. Occasionally one of us would ask a question of the other.

"What did you find on Rafflesia arnoldii spores?"

"If I put a hippogriff feather in a mixture of snake venom and mango juice, it'll make pink smoke, right?"

Then we'd resume our silence.

Around four o'clock, we started packing up our texts and book bags to go our separate ways. I stood to leave, but he stopped me.

"Doro. Uh. Ruth?" He shook his head and took a deep breath before looking at me, straight on. He stood, all the while keeping his eyes on me.

"That's a first," I said, stiffly.

He rolled his eyes, then fixed them, heavy, on me. "Go to the Yule Ball with me."

I started. "Excuse me?"

"I'm asking you to the Yule Ball." He was clenching and then flexing his hands at his sides.

"Draco, you don't like me. At all." I hugged my books tight to my chest.

"That's not true." He turned his chin upward as if I'd insulted him somehow. "I find you to be one of the least offensive and insufferable people in this godforsaken place."

He was keeping his composure well. But I could tell this was the last thing he wanted to be doing.

"You don't want to take me, Draco." I almost whispered it. I was sure that one of his friends had put him up to it. Make Draco ask the weird American girl and have a good laugh about it.

"Who else would I take?" He said it like it was obvious. He looked at me with those stupid gray eyes again. His eyebrows raised.

"Anyone. Really. This was a funny joke, I'm sure, but we both know that this isn't something that you would ever do." I took a step back and turned to go, my stomach having fallen into my shoes. I was thoroughly embarrassed after today and I just wanted to go right back to bed. Sleep through the rest of the day again.

"Doro." He put a hand on my arm to stop me.

"Ruth."

"Right." I turned around to face him again. He was too close. His hand was still on my arm.

"I'm asking you. Genuinely. Go to the ball with me."

"I don't know. You shouldn't be taking a Gryffindor. Especially one the whole school thinks is weird anyway."

He snorted. "Please. I study with you every week. I'm pretty sure the whole school knows that you're the one Gryffindor I can possibly stand. And they're all to afraid of me to say anything anyway. At the very least, come because you know it will please our mothers if we go together."

I thought about it for a moment. He was right. Our mothers would be ecstatic to see photos of us all dressed up together. It'd probably make their entire Christmas.

"Okay," I said. "I'll go."

"Good." He squeezed my arm, then became all too aware of the fact that he'd been touching me this whole time. His eyes grew wide as he yanked his arm away from me and he cleared his throat. "Right. Don't go buying a dress. We'll have my robes and your dress made to match. And you'll have to be on your best behavior. Don't go embarrassing yourself, me, or our families by being all...well. I will see you next week."

He picked up his things and left, leaving me standing behind, looking after him.

What had I just agreed to?


End file.
